


Something Good

by Aramley



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aramley/pseuds/Aramley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which it turns out that Steve likes Sam more than pizza and Star Wars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Good

Steve spent a grand total of three days in the hospital before he managed to get Sam to agree to bust him out, and by then it was less a case of Sam thinking he was actually ready to be released from hospital and more that he couldn’t stand Steve’s sad-eyed wheedling any more.

“When you can get to the bathroom under your own steam, then I will get you discharged,” said Sam, and so on the third day Steve smugly swung his legs out over the bed and got himself to the bathroom and back, and Sam threw up his hands and accepted the fact that Steve Rogers was a punk who always got what he wanted in the end.

“This isn’t the way to my place,” said Steve, when they were in the car. He was frowning slightly, his face still a little flushed and strained with pain, and although there was a doggie bag of painkillers on his lap Sam felt like he knew enough about him to guess that he had no intention of taking them.

“It’s the way to mine,” said Sam. “Your place has a hole in it, unless you forgot.”

“Of course,” said Steve, wryly.

“Plus I get the feeling that if I leave your dumb ass alone you’ll be doing pull-ups from the doorframes by noon,” said Sam, glancing sideways to see Steve’s little snort of laughter. “We can swing by yours if you want, pick some stuff up?”

Steve shook his head. “Nah. That’s okay.”

-

Sam’s guest room looked smaller with Steve in it, sitting on the nice blue eiderdown that Sam’s mother had picked out and looking around him. The bag of pills was on the bedside table and that and the clothes he was wearing were pretty much the sum of what Steve had in the world; Sam wished he’d insisted on swinging by Steve’s place for something, clothes, anything that would make him look less - lost.

“You know where everything is, I guess,” said Sam, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the bathroom down the hall and the kitchen. It was four days since Steve and Natasha had turned up on his doorstep; it felt like a hundred years.

“Thank you, Sam,” said Steve, in a way that was so heartfelt it managed to be heartbreaking. “I mean, for this and for -“

“Hey,” said Sam, cutting him off. “Don’t thank me. I got you, okay?”

Steve swallowed. “Okay,” he said.

“Now you’re going to take a nap up here,” said Sam. “The doctors said that you need to rest and Captain America is not going to bust a gut on my watch.”

“Fine,” said Steve, cracking the beginnings of a smile. He eased himself down, lying with a hand resting on his stomach, just over one of the bullet holes. He sighed up at the ceiling. “If I can’t sleep?”

“There’s some Dan Brown in the drawer there,” said Sam. “And don’t judge me, my sister’s husband left that here when they visited last and he has shitty taste in everything but women.”

Steve grinned up at him. “Is this the right time to tell you that I already read the Da Vinci Code twice?”

“This is the time where I shut the door on you,” said Sam, and did. Steve’s laughter followed him down the stairs, where he found Natasha sitting on his kitchen counter. It was a testament to how weird the past few days had been that this didn’t even phase him.

“Hey,” he said. “Coffee?”

“You need better security,” she said, and, “Thanks.”

He started the coffeemaker and turned to face her while it brewed. There was a file lying on the countertop next to her, but she didn’t offer it and Sam didn’t ask. He knew it wasn’t for him. She just watched him steadily, something that might have been amusement in the set of her mouth.

“Remind me never to play poker with you,” said Sam, finally.

“Stark says the same thing,” she said. The flicker of amusement brightened. “Only he found out the hard way.”

“Yeah, but from what I hear he’s good for it,” said Sam. Stark hadn’t come by the hospital but he’d called and made Steve put him on speakerphone so he could gush at Sam about the Falcon project and how if Sam would send over the specs Stark could put together something by the end of the week that would make his last set of wings look like a paper-and-glue kite.

“Bruce plays worse than Tony,” said Natasha. “You’ll find out.”

Poker night with the Avengers. Sam’s life was getting out of hand.

“How’s Steve play?” he asked.

“You’ll have to find that out the hard way, too,” said Steve, having apparently super-stealthed his way downstairs while Sam and Natasha were talking.

“Goddamn,” said Sam. “Are you actually incapable of sitting your ass down for five seconds at a time?”

“I’m good,” said Steve, although he had a hand on the counter that looked suspiciously like it was bracing him. “Hey, Natasha.”

“Hey yourself,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

Steve shrugged and patted his stomach lightly. “Guess my bikini days are over too.”

Natasha snorted. “Yeah, bet you look terrible in them now.”

“Time was, that little exchange would have been the weirdest part of my day,” said Sam, and turned to pour the coffee.

-

By the next day Steve was better again. He could get up and move around without pain, and when he got Sam to change the dressing on his wounds all that was left were a couple of angry-red marks under the stitches.

“That gonna scar?” Sam asked, resisting the urge to touch one of them. Steve’s abdominal muscles fluttered under his hands when he fixed the surgical tape, and that was another thing he was trying hard not to think about.

Steve shrugged. “Nothing else has so far,” he said. Sam wondered what that must be like, your body a blank slate no matter what you did to it. A scar was a story; sometimes it was better to carry those things on the outside.

“Okay,” he said when he was done. “You feel up to a trip out?”

“What,” said Steve, “you want to beat me running while you still have the advantage?”

“No,” said Sam. “I was thinking of taking you over to your place.”

“Oh." Steve's face had changed; not fallen, exactly, but - “Yeah, I mean –“

“No, dumbass,” said Sam, cutting across him to keep that look from taking hold on Steve’s face. “We’re going to get your stuff. I’m moving you in with me.”

“Oh,” said Steve, again, looking confused and hopeful in a way that made Sam’s heart twist. Yeah, he was pretty screwed. “You don’t have to do that, really.”

“Your place has a hole in it, Steve,” said Sam, deadpan. “It has a hole in it, and is probably under surveillance by like fifteen different agencies, and while I’m not saying my place is the Ritz or Fury’s secret base or anything, at least it doesn’t have a hole in it and Natasha did the most terrifyingly efficient bug sweep I have ever seen in my life yesterday. Not that I’ve seen a lot, but I can appreciate the Rolls Royce of bug sweeps when I see it.”

“Natasha’s terrifyingly efficient about everything,” said Steve.

“I’m getting that,” said Sam, grinning. “So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to your place and pack up your shit, bring it back here, order a pizza, and watch a movie made after 1943. Sound good?”

Steve smiled up at him. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

-

Steve’s apartment was nice but weirdly impersonal; like a shop display or a museum exhibit depicting the Twenty-First Century Home. It looked like Steve had outfitted the place wholesale from an Ikea catalogue, which turned out to be true.

“I just drew circles around the stuff I thought was okay,” said Steve, shrugging when Sam asked, “and they did it while I was on a mission. Natasha said they hired an interior decorator but it's hard to tell when she's kidding or not.”

True or not, Sam would now always imagine a team of SHIELD interior designers, all Men In Black-style suits and sunglasses and earpieces, arguing over upholstery and arranging Steve’s kitchenwares just so on those Expedit shelves.

“It just felt like – “ Steve shrugged and made an expansive gesture at the room. “You just couldn’t get this stuff, back in the day. Not if you were someone like me.”

“I get it,” said Sam. “Consumerism kind of took off while you were out.”

“There were twenty-five different kinds of plates in the catalogue they gave me,” said Steve, plaintive, and Sam nodded, because maybe he hadn’t woken up seventy years in the future but he had a vivid memory of standing in a grocery store in front of thirty different varieties of soup and missing MREs, which came in the flavour it came in and you could like it or not, but you were going to eat it anyway.

Steve had added his own personal touches here and there, and maybe if he’d had more time the place would have settled into something comfortable, lived in. There was the phonograph, for one thing, and the box of records he said he’d collected from flea markets and thrift stores on his days off; some framed prints on the walls which Sam took down carefully; and his bookshelf, which was mostly full of nonfiction books on twentieth century history plus a couple of big list books: _100 Places to See Before You Die, 100 Greatest Movies._

“That was Tony,” said Steve, at Sam’s raised eyebrow. “He got them for me before I moved to DC, wanted to make it some kind of challenge.”

“Well, pack ‘em up,” said Sam, thrusting the book at Steve. “You can use it to pick tonight’s movie.”

They were carefully not looking at or talking about the bulletholes in the wall, the ones the Winter Soldier had put there, just like how since Steve had woken up in the hospital they hadn’t been talking about the Winter Soldier himself. It was there and they both knew that they were dancing around it; whatever had been in the file Natasha had brought over yesterday had put new resolve in Steve’s eyes. Whatever was going to happen, it was coming.

In the end, Steve’s belongings filled a box or two, plus a suitcase of clothes. When it was piled in the middle of the living room it just looked kind of sad.

“Glad I didn’t rent a truck,” said Sam, trying to keep it light. “You sure there’s nothing else?”

Steve stood, hands on his hips in that way that made him look heart-stoppingly like a hero from Sam’s teenage dreams, and dutifully looked around the apartment, at the appliances and the furniture he hadn’t picked, the bare walls and the boarded-over window. He exhaled a long breath, shoulders dropping with something kin to relief.

“Leave it,” he said. “Let whoever’s left clear it up.”

“Okay,” said Sam. “I’m taking your microwave, though, man. From what I see SHIELD paid out for some high-end appliances and if I’m the one who’s gonna be feeding your super-soldier ass I intend to take advantage of that.”

Steve laughed, an easy sound that loosened something in Sam’s own chest.

“Well, get it and let’s get out of here.”

“Roger that, Cap,” said Sam, and got to it.

-

Steve’s stuff fit easily into Sam’s apartment, kind of like the way that Steve seemed to fit easily into Sam’s life. By the time they’d unpacked and arranged it all it was evening, and Sam ordered two of the largest pizzas he’d ever seen in his life and watched Steve demolish one and a quarter of them while fending off attacks on his remaining three-quarters.

“I don’t know if I can afford to keep you in the style to which you are clearly accustomed,” said Sam, eyeballing Steve’s empty pizza box, balanced on his lap where they were sat on the couch while they tried to figure out what movie to watch. When it came to Netflix, Sam was in full agreement as to how modern life could paralyse you with choice.

“I’ll pick up groceries,” Steve offered. “I mean, I have the money. They figured out my army back pay when I woke up and it’s, well.”

“It’ll keep you in pizza?”

“It’ll keep me in pizza,” said Steve, nodding.

“Will it pay the medical bills you’re gonna need to reattach your hand when I rip it off the next time you come for my pizza?”

“Oh come on,” said Steve. “You’re not even eating that slice.”

“Only because I hadn’t gotten there yet, oh my god,” said Sam. “Captain America’s a straight-up thief.”

“I’ll arm wrestle you for it,” said Steve, with that shit-eating grin that made Sam’s stomach swoop, god help him.

“You got pizza sauce on your face, man,” said Sam, before he said something stupider, and tossed a balled-up napkin at him.

In the end they gave up on Netflix because Steve confessed that he’d still never seen Star Wars and Sam just happened to have the special edition BluRay box set because obviously, and it was a god damn crime that anyone could get to be as old as Steve was and not have seen Star Wars.

“Wait,” said Steve, as the opening crawl started up. “Shouldn’t we start with Episode One?”

“Don’t even go there, man,” said Sam. “Just don’t even go there.”

At the end of the movie Steve had a light in his eye that Sam recognised and he asked, “Can we watch the next one?” and the next one was _Empire_ and ended with Han in carbonite so obviously they had to go straight on to _Return_. Sam kept sneaking sideways looks at Steve’s face, his fine profile lit by the wash of light from the tv, green lightsaber flares and red explosions playing over his skin. He looked absorbed and happy, and Sam had a sudden selfish rush of pleasure. Maybe Star Wars would remind Steve of Sam now, like Marvin Gaye might. He was greedy for all of Steve’s firsts, he realised. And he’d known the guy less than a week.

“That was awesome,” said Steve, when the final credits rolled. He yawned hugely, stretching up over his head so that his shirt rode up at the waist, exposing the bandages. 

“Congratulations on busting your Star Wars cherry,” said Sam. He leaned over to flick on the side-lamp. “And if you could give your buddy Stark a nudge in the direction of inventing the lightsaber, that would be awesome, too.”

Steve laughed. “Blue would go with the suit.”

“God,” said Sam, tipping his head back. “You are so Luke Skywalker it’s not even funny.”

“Thanks, I think,” said Steve.

“I mean it as a compliment,” said Sam. “Just, most boys want to grow up to be Han Solo.”

Steve turned his head, smiling. “You?”

“Well, when we were kids I mostly ended up being Lando,” said Sam. “Which is cool, cause he’s the man, but that was pretty much my default character, you know. My nephew, at least he’s got Mace Windu too.”

“Mace Windu?” said Steve.

“Oh, just the biggest badass in the Star Wars universe,” said Sam. “But I don’t think you’re ready for the prequels yet. I think you’re gonna want to soak in the awesomeness of the originals before you can handle them.”

“I’ll take your word,” said Steve, easy. It was so late it was technically early, but Sam was still on sabbatical from work and neither of them moved. A comfortable silence settled, all of Sam's limbs pleasantly heavy with drowsiness. 

“This is nice,” said Steve, after a little while. When Sam cracked an eyelid Steve was slouched way down, practically disappearing into Sam's couch, his eyes shut like he could sleep where he was too.

“You’ll get a crick in your neck, you fall asleep like that,” said Sam.

“Hm? No, I mean,” Steve shrugged as best he could from that position, eyes still shut. “All of this is nice. Your house. The pizza. The movies. You.”

Sam looked over. Was Steve blushing? His dumb heart was starting up, thudding in his chest and getting ahead of itself when Steve had basically just said that he liked Sam about as much as he liked pizza and Star Wars, which seemed like a good place to be in the pantheon of things Steve liked, but wasn't exactly where Sam had been aiming for. He was trying to think of something to say that wasn't 'I like you a lot more than pizza and Star Wars, actually,' when Steve's hand brushed against his own.

The first feather-light touch he might have written off as accidental, but then Steve's fingers kept touching, his fingertips running over Sam's knuckles and his thumb stroking Sam's wrist; almost innocent, so achingly sweet that Sam's throat felt thick. He turned his hand over and Steve's fingers tangled with his: just another way they fit together, easy and good.

"Alright," Sam said, laughing a little, the sound bubbling up out of him. "Captain America's got game."

Steve snorted and opened his eyes finally, turned and gave Sam a lovely, sleepy smile.

"If you want to get technical about it, I think maybe you're the one doing the pursuing," he said, and Sam would have protested except for how when you looked at it a certain way - like how he'd moved Steve into his apartment pretty much without asking and then given him pizza and movies - you could understand where he was coming from. And maybe another way you looked at it they'd been chasing each other from the first time they met.

He gave Steve's hand a squeeze. "Call it even?"

"Even," said Steve, squeezing back. He held Sam's gaze a while, eyes too heavy-lidded and sleepy for any real heat but holding a warmth that Sam felt through his whole body. He thought about waking up in the morning to Steve's blue eyes and slow smiles. It was like being a teenager again, the same sharp-sweet thrill. In a minute he was going to lean over and kiss Steve, but even the thought of that still being ahead of them was somehow delicious. 

Before he got there Steve dropped his eyes down to their joined hands, face dimming slightly. 

"You know," he said, "this is kind of a bad time to be starting anything."

"Your buddy's still out there," said Sam, thinking of Natasha's file again. 

"Yeah," said Steve. He scrubbed his free hand across his face, looking tired. "Plus all the other stuff - SHIELD, the Senate's calling for hearings, I'm gonna need to head to New York before anything -"

"We," said Sam. "We are going to New York. _The_ Tony Stark promised me a pair of wings and I intend to collect."

"Sam," said Steve. 

"Look," said Sam, before Steve could say anything responsible and self-sacrificing. There was a time and a place for that, yeah, but it was about three days and one global crisis ago. "I'm in this, okay? If we can't do this -" he raised their joined hands up off the couch and let them drop back down "- while all that other stuff is happening, then that sucks, but, you know, okay."

Steve nodded. 

"But here's what I'm thinking," said Sam. "Let me run this one past you, okay?"

"Okay," said Steve. 

"Well, first of all, I figured I'd lean over and kiss you, since that's what I was planning on doing before you got all 'saviour of the universe' on me. You with me so far?"

Steve laughed, quick and happy, a sound Sam already loved. "With you."

"After that, I figured I'd go to bed," said Sam, and when Steve gave him a raised eyebrow that was probably supposed to be suggestive but was actually cheesy and weirdly adorable, he went on, "My bed, asshole, all on my lonesome, cause I'm a gentleman. Tomorrow I thought I'd get up, make breakfast, kiss you some more - if you're amenable. And past that, I figured I'd just see what the day brings."

"So, figure things out as we go," said Steve. 

"Yeah," said Sam. "I figured that Captain Jumps Off Things For Fun might be able to get behind that."

Steve laughed and angled his body in, and Sam let himself lean in to meet him. The kiss was soft and warm - a little unpracticed, maybe, but compatible, and Sam thought that whatever the coming weeks might throw at them this could be a sure thing in a world lacking them, a kind of bedrock. 

"You know," said Steve, breaking away for a second. He brought up his other hand to touch Sam's jaw, and he was smiling in that almost shy way he had. "The jumping's not so tough when there's someone you trust to catch you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to peardita for Ameri-picking and for countless other things. You are amazing.
> 
> It took watching CA:TWS a second time for me to realise that Steve had actually crossed out Star Wars from his little list and so had probably already seen it, which sent me into a spiral of WRONG and MUST NEVER POST THIS FIC. But I love this fandom and I wanted to finally post something after roughly a billion years of being out of a regular fandom, so.


End file.
